


Movie Night

by nondeducible



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Kissing, M/M, Movie Night, Romance, sherlock is a shy tiny smol man the size of an ant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-30
Updated: 2015-12-30
Packaged: 2018-05-10 12:20:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5585167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nondeducible/pseuds/nondeducible
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's their first movie night since they became a couple, and Sherlock is trying to figure out what amount of physical contact is appropriate for such an occasion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Movie Night

**Author's Note:**

> commission for deadjohngreen who asked for a fic for their friend - early relationship stuff, bond night with curry, john accidentally blurting out really endearing things to sherlock, flustered but happy sherlock. enjoy!
> 
> thanks to ashleigh and soli for a quick beta <3

Sherlock came home to a flat bathed in the soft light of table lamps and candles, the smell of fresh curry, and the furniture rearranged to accommodate the tv on the coffee table.

Sherlock could hear John in the kitchen, putting finishing touches to the food and humming quietly to himself. John being in a good mood meant his lunch with Harry went well. She must be sticking to her rehab then, just over six months of being completely sober, and it seemed she was set on seeing it through this time. Though he would never say it, Sherlock knew the difficulties of keeping an addiction in check and felt a pang of sympathy for her efforts.

Sherlock entered the flat quietly, not wanting to betray his presence just yet. He carefully draped his coat on one of the living room chairs, and took a closer look at the transformed flat. The coffee table had been pushed away from the sofa, the tv now sitting atop it, surrounded by small candles. More candles were scattered around the desk, a random array of various sizes and colours, some evidently pinched from Mrs Hudson. The only other sources of light were a lamp on the other side of the room, behind Sherlock’s armchair, and the lit fireplace. The flat felt warm, cosy and intimate. Romantic, even.

Sherlock walked over to the sofa and picked up the DVD case that had been carelessly thrown on it. A new James Bond film, clearly a gift from Harry. Sherlock smiled to himself, remembering all the other Bond films he had watched with John over the years. Back then, it was an opportunity to bicker and laugh with a friend, even if he had longed for more. As much as he protested and moaned about the stupidity of the films, he cherished those evenings and carefully stored every single one in his mind palace.

This, Sherlock realised, would be their first Bond night as a couple.

“You’re back just in time.”

Sherlock turned to see John standing in the kitchen doorway, shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows and the top three buttons of his shirt undone, cheeks flushed from standing over a hot stove. He smiled at Sherlock, full of warmth and affection, and it made Sherlock’s stomach flutter. John looked devastatingly beautiful like this, even though he would protest being described as such.

John walked over to wrap his arms around Sherlock’s waist, and rose up on his toes to place a quick kiss on Sherlock’s lips. By the time John leaned away, Sherlock had only just recovered from the momentary surprise at such a tender welcome. He wrapped his arms around John’s shoulders, not letting him pull away completely.

“Miss me, did you?” John asked, voice tinged with amusement.

“No,” Sherlock replied as he leaned down to kiss him. 

The kiss lingered, their lips moving slowly and softly against each other. It deepened but remained unhurried, tender and affectionate. John tightened his arms around Sherlock’s waist, and Sherlock moved his hands up to cradle John’s head and run his fingers through John’s hair.

John hummed into the kiss and slowed it gradually, ending it with a few final light pecks to the corners of Sherlock’s mouth and then the tip of his nose.

“It seems you have missed me, though.” Sherlock huffed out a quiet laugh.

“Mmm, terribly,” John said with a smirk. He pulled away a bit, looking up at Sherlock with a slightly uncertain expression. “You don’t think this is too much?”

“Too much what?” Sherlock asked, puzzled.

“Don’t know,” John said and shrugged. He looked down at his feet, somewhat sheepishly. “I just thought it’d be nice to have a night in. With a movie. A bit like a date. Since we haven’t had any.” 

Sherlock could see the tips of John’s ears had gone red.

“I like it,” Sherlock blurted, and found he meant it. John looked up at him with a hopeful smile playing on his lips. “It’s, um, it’s—it’s romantic.”

Sherlock felt his own blush creeping up neck and cheeks, setting his entire face aflame. John’s grin grew even wider. 

“You’re adorable,” John leaned in to whisper. He pulled away from Sherlock with a giggle at Sherlock’s ferocious scowl, and gave Sherlock’s bum a quick pat on his way to the kitchen. “Let’s get the food.”

Sherlock grumbled under his breath as he followed John into the kitchen, but his words held no heat. 

They heaped their plates with curry and rice, grabbed a few beers from the fridge, and made their way back to the living room. John set up the movie while Sherlock fussed with the sofa, fluffing up the pillows. 

Movie started, they tucked into their food. Sherlock made appreciative noises over the sounds of the opening credits.

“You like it? Harry gave me the recipe.”

“It’s edible,” Sherlock remarked wryly, but the slight twitch of his mouth betrayed the lie.

“I’ll tell her you loved it. Couldn’t get enough of it. Praised her the whole night,” John said with a chuckle. Sherlock nudged him playfully with his elbow, careful not to spill their food.

They finished the rest of their food in relative silence, interrupted only by Sherlock’s groans or exclamations of “Ridiculous!” when Bond did something particularly egregious. John didn’t bother to respond to any of it, bar a few eyerolls and pointed sighs.

It was, in short, almost perfect.

However, after they had finished their food and drained their beers, they were sitting too far apart, much to Sherlock’s chagrin. The necessity of eating had meant sitting some distance apart to avoid elbows in ribs or upended plates of hot curry in one’s lap. Now though, now the space between them seemed to be an insurmountable chasm.

It wasn’t even sitting slightly apart that bothered Sherlock so much, it was the issue of how to initiate contact. He knew he could touch John more freely now, not needing to pretend it was accidental or “for science, John”, but he wasn’t sure where the boundaries had shifted to.

Sherlock wasn’t sure whether taking John’s hand while watching a film was comparable to a quick peck on the lips in the morning, or a bit of cuddling before sleep. Or maybe it was too much? Too clingy? They were supposed to watch a film after all.

John had called it a date. Sherlock had never been on a date. Oh sure, he and John went along to restaurants on what many people would call dates but neither of them considered them as such, so they didn’t count. A date was a mutually agreed upon event, where both parties put conscious effort into romance.

And sex, more often than not. Oh god, was this supposed to be like one of those dates he had seen his peers go on when he was teenager? All snogging and groping in dark cinemas, followed by quick sexual acts in cinema toilets or the backs of cars.

Perhaps John was waiting for him to initiate? John, ever the gentleman, wanted and possibly expected sex, but was willing to let Sherlock set the pace. Was he though? Or was he simply uninterested? Did John realise their sex life was lacking and decided to forego it?

Sherlock gnawed on his bottom lip as he considered all the possible scenarios. Too many variables to take into account, the end result was unpredictable.

Maybe he could shift close enough to John, slowly, so John could take the hint and initiate some form of contact between them. The chance that it would go badly was negligible, and the possible pay off was substantial.

Sherlock inched towards John at intervals of a few minutes. He didn’t want to give himself away entirely, and appear too needy, so he made a point to act as if he was trying to get comfortable. He wiggled his hips, fluffed up his pillows, draped and re-draped the blankets over his legs—all the while moving incrementally closer to John. Who, for the most part, seemed entirely oblivious.

After nearly fifteen minutes of constant pretend fidgeting, Sherlock’s right side was pressed against John’s left, shoulder to thigh. Sherlock slumped against the cushions in relief.

Now, he had to make John progress this further. Maybe he could make John hold his hand, or drape his left arm along the back of the sofa so Sherlock could snuggle up to him. Maybe John could even drape his arm around Sherlock’s shoulders and kiss his head in that endearingly charming way of his. The possibilities were almost endless, and made Sherlock’s heart flutter in anticipation.

Shimmying closer to John had been a perfectly effective strategy so far, so Sherlock wiggled against John again, trying to plaster himself completely against John’s side. There was no space between their bodies, and Sherlock hoped his incessant wiggling would provoke John to stop him by touching him.

As if on cue, after less than twenty seconds of fidgeting, John put his hand on Sherlock’s thigh. Quite high up Sherlock’s thigh. He left his hand there, rubbing small circles into Sherlock’s leg with his thumb.

Sherlock’s belly flipped and he felt his face heat up. Such a simple touch, but it could melt Sherlock’s bones.

Sherlock wanted more, though. He wanted to feel more of John’s body heat, feel the press of his hands, his lips.

Sherlock took a chance, in his mind at least, and rested his head on John’s shoulder. It was a bit bony and uncomfortable, and Sherlock grumbled under his breath.

“You’re like a cat demanding attention, you know that?” John remarked, without taking his eyes off the screen. A quick glance assured Sherlock that John wasn’t annoyed, and that the film had progressed far enough for Sherlock to have no idea who was who and doing what and why. He couldn’t really bring himself to care.

“Come here,” John said as he lifted his left arm, only to drape it around Sherlock’s back. Sherlock hummed happily and slumped against John’s side, tucking his head against John’s neck. “You could’ve said you wanted a cuddle.”

“M’not cuddling,” Sherlock mumbled.

“Mmm, of course not.” Sherlock could hear the smile in John’s voice, and then felt it against his forehead when John kissed him there. “You don’t have to hold back, ever,” John whispered against Sherlock’s skin.

Sherlock felt a blush creeping up his face, and silently both cursed and thanked John for his steadily developing observation skills. Instead of saying thank you, Sherlock craned his neck up to plant a soft kiss on the underside of John’s chin. John’s hand drifted up from Sherlock’s back to tangle in his hair, stroking the nape of his neck.

They went back to watching the film, at least John did. Sherlock was far more preoccupied with basking in John’s embrace, the feel of his skin against Sherlock’s face, and his gentle fingers in Sherlock’s hair. Feeling more sure of himself, Sherlock reached out to grab John’s right hand, and brought it to his lips. He kissed John’s knuckles one by one, then the centre of his palm.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were a hopeless romantic,” John murmured, affectionate amusement in his voice.

“I’m glad you _do_ know better,” Sherlock grumbled jokingly.

“Instead you’re just a giant cat, needing constant attention,” John mused. He smiled down at Sherlock. “Cat Sherlock. Cat-lock.”

Sherlock slid down John’s side and settled with his head in John’s lap. He looked up at John with an impish smile, which startled a laugh out of John.

“You’re shameless.”

“You love it.”

“Mmm, I do.” John bent down to kiss Sherlock, lingering for a few moments to exchange closed-mouth kisses. “I love _you_.”

Sherlock’s face was set aflame once more, and he turned to bury it in John’s belly. He mumbled “I love you too” into John’s cardigan, and knew John heard it by the soft touch of John’s fingers in his hair.

John went back to watching the film but kept running his fingers through Sherlock’s hair, massaging his scalp and nape. Sherlock couldn’t keep his eyes open, and let himself drift in the hazy state between wakefulness and sleep. The sounds of the film seemed far away and indecipherable, Sherlock could only hear both of their hearts beating in sync.

All too soon John was shaking him gently, still carding his fingers through Sherlock’s hair.

“Come to bed, love.”

Sherlock got up from the sofa with John’s help, and they both shuffled slowly into their bedroom. Once there, John helped Sherlock undress and get into his pyjamas. He tucked Sherlock in before taking care of his own clothes. 

Sherlock drifted in and out of consciousness while John undressed, cocooned in bed and feeling full to the brim with love. His final thought before drifting off was that, even though their movie nights still contained all the familiar elements from before, they were now far more worthy of storing in the mind palace, romance and all.


End file.
